Indebted
by TangerineFields
Summary: In the wake of Sirius' escape from Azkaban, Remus struggles with the memories that his return to Hogwarts exhumes. SiriusxRemus implied.


Disclaimer: All of her wonderful creations are the property of Ms. J. K. Rowling.

Sorry for the lack of anything amusing, but coming back to Hogwarts must have been hard for Remus, in fact, you can't help wondering why he did.

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**Indebted**

Although utterly indebted to Albus Dumbledore, Remus couldn't help but bemoan the great wizard's timing. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault – he knew that he had been offered the post at Hogwarts before Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, before his gaunt, empty face had filled the front of every paper, papered every backstreet and shop window and had hounded him in that manner that only Sirius could have.

It was just he could have done without the stark reminder. Without the feeling of déjà vu that came with the letter and the Hogwarts crest.

He'd done a good job of forgetting. He'd locked the precious, tainted, childhood memories away so that those brief glances of men with dark hair or glasses, or winning, carefree smiles pained him less and less as the years went on, and the ache deadened and faded into a background hum.

He unashamedly thanked god that Azkaban had ruined Sirius Black.

He thanked god that staring into the death mask, it took real concentration to see the once beautiful face of his friend. The curve of the jaw was still the same, the high cheekbones. It was the convict's collarbones, protruding from the tatters of his prison robes that sparked the power keg of memories. Long nights and lazy mornings. The pinch of Sirius' alabaster skin between his teeth. The open shirt collars, the marks Remus had made worn with pride. The knowing looks exchanged when people made to enquire. Sirius' whining as he writhed beneath the bed sheets. Their incredible talent for silencing charms and that bark of laughter when Flitwick had congratulated them for the amount of practice they must have got in.

Coming back to Hogwarts after fifteen long years, Remus seemed to have set out to deliberately torture himself.

He sat in their compartment on the train, the one at the very end. Walking to it had been nothing less than habit. A habit he had been too exhausted to break. The space was filled with them, with the laughter of four young and whole souls. Filled with plots and plans, filled with James' constant ruffling of his unruly hair, filled with Peter's wide eyed adoration, filled with Sirius' mocking, derisive drawl as he recounted miserable summers, and filled, inevitably with the three minute quickie the two of them had snuck while James and Peter went off to reacquaint themselves with Severus.

He had forced his brain to shut down, succumbed to a sleep that was mercifully without dreams.

At the school, Sirius was everywhere. Racing down every corridor, the loudest and proudest and best looking boy streaming in through the doors to the Great Hall. Lobbing stink bombs at the Slytherin table during breakfast with an elated James Potter. Dancing on the desks in the cavernous Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom that it was now Remus' duty to manage. In every mirror, corner, stairwell, behind every door and every tapestry, every statue, Sirius winked and laughed and made to snog him senseless. Every filthy look Snape shot him reeked of Sirius, every sharp quip made, every foul prank played felt as if it had Sirius' fingerprints burnt into it.

Waking up in the Shrieking Shack after his first transformation there since their childhood almost marked the end of him. Cold and desolate and entirely alone, he lay on the rotten boards and stared into the space that Sirius should have occupied. James and Peter had always crept back to their beds when the werewolf writhed and dissolved and a pale and bloody Remus remerged.

Sirius had stayed.

Remus would wake to find him lounging in the corner, picking at his wounds, his eyes full of sex.

"Fuck me." He'd growl, and Remus' last reserves of energy always went to that messy affair that left them bloody and aching. A fiery kiss to his bruised lips and Sirius would be gone, the arrival of Madame Pomfrey looming large on the horizon.

Lying there, Remus felt that ache, the flare of heat between his legs and waves of self loathing crashed over him. In his corner, Sirius winked seductively and Remus moaned and buried his face into the boards and let the splinters worm into his skin.

In the break between lessons the next day, Remus wasted a good half hour considering the benefits of topping himself. The grindylow in its tank bubbled and then winked at him. Remus stared blankly back.

There was a tap at the classroom door and then the collective clatter of a babbling group of first years impatient for their favourite lesson. In the safety of his office, Remus gave the waving, grinning picture on his desk one last, desperate look and clambered to his feet.

For Remus Lupin, life resumed with a hand through his greying hair and a shake of his head at his self indulgence. He could never do the deed himself. As ever, he was willing to wait until the memory of Sirius Black did that for him.


End file.
